


Shatter

by Swordlesbiab



Series: </3 [1]
Category: Spies Are Forever - Talkfine/Tin Can Brothers
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Hurt No Comfort, It's part of the ambiguous ending thing you know?, M/M, and by abstract i mean messy, it's messy, this is kinda abstract?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-24
Updated: 2019-06-24
Packaged: 2020-05-19 03:38:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19348723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Swordlesbiab/pseuds/Swordlesbiab
Summary: What if Curt reacted a little more strongly to Owen's reappearance?





	Shatter

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all, welcome to Sad Curt. Mind the tags, ig?? Also, this is a totally different style from how I usually write so like,,,,thoughts?

Curt had known from the moment he heard those words. 

 

“Personal history does have its benefits, Mega.” 

 

A dead man’s joke in a killer’s voice, and the world around him faded to static and white noise, like reality was filtering in through a bad radio connection. It felt like every time he’d seen Owen before, hallucinations brought on by too much alcohol, too much adrenaline, too much grief filtering the world into a too-familiar shape, but this one wasn’t something he could snap out of. This was real.

 

Curt watched helplessly as the man reached up to pull his mask off with hands that had ripped his teeth from his screaming mouth, with hands that had fussed and caressed over his every scrape and bruise. Curt had already known what he was going to see beneath it, but nothing could have prepared him for the sight of ice in Owen’s warm eyes, or the hard set of his jaw when his face was uncovered and all Curt could see, all he could hear was OwenOwen _O_ _ wen  _ like a sucker punch, knocking the wind from his lungs, and chasing each breath away before he had a chance to gasp.

 

Curt didn’t realize he was crying until the first tears hit his fists, clenched on the table. Owen looked at him with his hard, cold eyes, and Curt was sure he said something, but it was all wrong, all twisted, and all Curt wanted was for his partner to hold him again after all this time. 

 

Curt opened his mouth to speak, to ask why it had been so long, why Owen never came back, to yell and scream and rage for the four years he’d waited, hoped against all odds to hear his voice again in the few moments when he was sober and awake. His fingers ached where they clutched at the table, remembering skin pulled raw from the rubble, torn by his grip when the rescue team finally pulled him out. 

 

“Owen,” He choked out, finally. “Owen.”

 

He felt every eye in the room land on him. Curt was sure he was crying now, doubled over against the table as someone’s hands wrapped around his shoulders. They weren’t Owen’s hands, he knew that much. Too slim, too long. 

 

Why weren’t they Owen’s hands, Curt wondered frantically. Where was he? 

 

Curt heard his voice through the static, “Well this wasn’t exactly how I’d anticipated this little reunion going, but then, I suppose he always was pathetic. Hardly my concern now. Good luck Tatiana.” 

 

It was too light, forced cheer oozing from each syllable. Uncomfortable, the part of Curt’s brain that had painstakingly catalogued each of Owen’s subtle tells supplied. He’s uncomfortable with seeing you like this. Seeing you in pain. He knows you’re hurting, but he’s still over there, and you’re still over here.

 

That wasn’t right, none of this was right. Curt struggled out of Tatiana’s arms. If he could get to Owen, this would all make sense again. The world would finally right itself, come back together for the first time in four years; all Curt needed to do was get to Owen.

 

Curt held on to the table as he walked.

 

Owen let go of the chair he’d been holding in front of him like a shield.

 

“Curt, no!” He heard someone call from behind him. He felt a gun against his head. 

 

“I wouldn’t come any closer, if I were you.” Owen’s voice said. Not Owen, though, because Owen would never say that. Owen would never hurt him, no matter how much the still-healing scars around his throat might insist. Curt met his eyes, blurry through the tears. Owen looked back at him evenly.

 

“Be a good boy now, and let the adults talk, would you?” He taunted. 

 

Curt grabbed the barrel of the gun, and Owen’s calm stare faltered. Curt heard a shout from behind him, the origins of which he neither knew nor cared about. 

 

“Good God, Mega. You really have lost your mind. Well, I suppose it’s gratifying, although whether that was me or the four years soaked in booze is open to interpretation.”

 

Curt held on to the gun.

 

“No, no no no, see, you don’t get to do this anymore. You don’t get to make me feel bad when you’re the one who left. You don’t get to fall apart when you’re the one who let me fall.” Owen growled with a sharp jerk on the gun in his hand. Curt noted through the static in his head that Owen hadn’t threatened to shoot him again. 

 

So Curt held on to the gun.

 

And Owen let go. 

 

Somebody gasped from behind them.

 

“There, you’ve won again. Happy? Now play the damn game, Mega. Be the hero, take me out, just stop whatever the hell this is.” Owen looked uneasy. “If you wanted me to wipe your tears away, you should have come back for me four years ago. No use holding on now, my dear, there’s nothing left to save.”

 

Curt’s fingers ached so strongly with their phantom pains, he wondered how Owen couldn’t tell. How he couldn’t feel it, the way he always seemed to feel when Curt was hurting, and know how hard he’d tried to go back. The weight of the gun burned against his hand, but the part of Curt’s brain that still worked told him not to put it down. 

 

Curt held on to the gun. He raised it up and fired into the ceiling until it clicked uselessly against his palm. It ached against the long-healed skin of his fingers still, but somehow less than before. Curt threw the gun away, watched it skitter to a stop before taking another step towards Owen, now more bewildered than angry. Curt threw his arms around Owen’s neck, and felt it seize under the touch.

 

Curt held on tight to Owen. 

 

Owen’s hands came up to hold Curt’s head where it lay against his chest.

 

And he heard a warning shouted from behind him.

 

And the static faded out to silence.

**Author's Note:**

> ........................anyway. As always, I'm theguywhodidntlikeblogs on tumblr, and I appreciate any kudos/comments yall care to give


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